Guilty
by ashhead
Summary: Tony helps Michelle overcome her guilt about Carrie's death
1. Default Chapter

Another one of those one chapter T/M stories, although this one is relatively happy. The grammar on this one is particularly bad, and it changes from 3rd person to 1st person because I have loads of problems with Carrie. So any feedback is appreciated.

He held her tighter, thinking it was the pain that made her struggle. In fact, the pain was the last thing on her mind. She was dying, the coldness that spread through her as blood escaped through her stomach confirming this, and she didn't want to die like this, not in his arms.

In truth, she hated him. The only reason she was anywhere near him was to get back at Michelle. And of all the things she had expected, the last thing she wanted was to be here, wrapped up in his arms, a knife protruding from her stomach.

She hated him so much his stupidity, his depression, his clinginess. God, she even hated the way he smelt. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. When she imagined herself dying, she pictured herself in the arms of the man she loved, not here. She would rather be alone than with him, the thought of the last thing she ever saw being him actually sickened her.

So she struggled to get away from him, ignoring the waves of pain that this sent ricocheting through her body. She didn't want to have to die in his arms. As her last breath fled her, the only thought in her mind was that this was Michelle's fault.

She was dead, her breathing had stopped. I couldn't be near her, my mind was panicking, it wasn't my fault. I did the only thing I could think of.

"Dessler," The familiar tones of her voice comforted me immediately. She would know what to do, she always knew what to do.

"Michelle..." I stopped as I heard her exasperated sigh. For a moment I was lost, not understanding why she was being like that. Then I remembered, we hadn't actually spoken in ages, not since I got back with Carrie, not since her idiot boyfriend had had a go at me.

What was I doing, why was I calling her? I didn't need her. "Nothing, it doesn't matter." My tone was harsh as I tried to get rid of her without alerting her to what was wrong.

Unfortunately, she knew me too well. "Danny...What's wrong?" Worry crept in to mingle with the annoyance in her voice. She didn't want to have to deal with me, especially after before, but was worried as to why I would be calling her.

I tried to think of a way to reassure her that everything was alright, but my mind was stuck on the thought of the dead body lying in the next room. So my mouth automatically took over. "You don't have to worry, you know, 'bout me and Carrie. She's dead... I thought you might like to know." Then I hung up before I had to listen to the false sympathies that she would no doubt wish to express.

It wasn't until the sound of my voice died and the deafening silence of the room rang about me that I realised just how much I needed her. My feet started to collapse about me, and I made no effort to hold myself up, letting myself fall to the floor and sob noisily into the carpet, desperately trying to overcome the hideous silence.

When Danny phoned me, I was annoyed; partly because I was in the middle of running some priority checks for Division which would have to be restarted, but mostly because I was angry at him. We hadn't spoken in over a month, not since he had found out that I was sleeping with my boss. His words, not mine.

He had left me in tears, and Tony had been fuming when he had found out. So now there was this huge rift between me and my family, all because my brother couldn't deal with the idea that I wanted a life of my own.

And I had let that annoyance creep into my voice, dominating my line of thought until his words broke through, and I was left pressing the phone into my ear, just listening to the tone.

Carrie was dead? I had spent hours sitting in my office at Division, meticulously planning every aspect of her death. But she was actually dead? Somehow, I just didn't know how to react.

Not even thinking, my feet led me to the last place I should have been going; up those awful stairs that separate us and into his office, my mind still completely blank.

I hated her so very much, I wanted her to die, preferably slowly and painfully. But she was actually dead? And I was completely unable to identify, let alone deal with, the rush of emotion that ran through me.

His eyes met mine as I entered his office, completely forgetting to knock. I turned around to close the door, and it was then that I cracked, hot tears storming down my face.

As I turned the lock, I pressed my face into the darkened glass, not quite able to comprehend why I was being like this. I mean, it was ridiculous, I didn't even like her.

I didn't hear him finish up on the phone or cross the room to me, but I did feel his arms touch mine, softly, gently, somehow conveying his every thought.

Not needing to say anything, I turned around and buried myself into him, his warmth burning away everything. Somehow, he sensed what I needed his fingers finding their usual spot in my hair as he pulled me closer to him, not saying anything.

Then, almost hungrily, with a passion that if I had been thinking straight would have reminded me of the first time I kissed him, I pulled his mouth onto mine, needing to feel him. I didn't care that this was his office, that he was my boss, that we had agreed that we wouldn't do this, not at work. I just needed him, needed something real, needed anything to take away the emptiness that was gnawing through me.

And just like before, it took a moment to register with me that, despite everything, despite all the reasons we shouldn't be doing this, he is kissing me back.

It took a while for me to regain my composure, by which point his point his shirt had been discarded somewhere in the office and mine hung open about me. His fingers are gently brushing my tears away as I lose myself in his eyes, his breathing just as heavy as mine. For a moment, the sensation of his fingers brushing against my cheek overcomes everything, but then my over-analytical mind kicks in. Sighing slightly, I did what I should have done originally I pressed my face into his chest, letting the tears stream.

It took another long while for this to stop, and all the while he just held me, listening to my tears, but not trying to stop them or interrupt me. When I had re-gathered enough of myself to feel embarrassed about doing this here, I pulled back from him, my arms wrapping themselves about me as I bit down slightly on my lower lip, a habit I've picked up from him.

Normally, I would have been have been amused by the tear stains streaking his chest, but they didn't even register as I sought reassurance in his eyes. I trust him, I mean, he's Tony, I've known him forever, but even so, its not been that long, and I'm not really the most confident person in the world.

But I needn't have worried, looking back at me was the same warmth that I had fallen for in the first place, a slightly teasing smile, and a piercing look of worry. I held his gaze for a moment, trying to put a coherent response together in my head.

"Carrie..." My voice sounded so small, so far away. I started again, "Carrie's dead..."

It wasn't until I saw understanding flicker through him that I understood the sickening ache inside of me, guilt.

As I saw the rush of questions surface in him, I raised my fingers to his mouth. I couldn't deal with them, not now. It had only been a month since I had had to watch so many of my friends die, I hadn't come to terms with those yet, and there was no way in hell I was ready to discuss this, not even with him.

"I have to go and see my brother...He was there." Tony hates Danny, but he couldn't argue with this. Danny's unstable, and I couldn't handle it if anything was to happen to him.

Tony regarded me for a minute, I suppose he doesn't want me to have to go through this alone. But eventually he nods, shooting me a sad smile.

I feel myself nod back at him as I straighten myself up so that I'm ready to continue the pretence that we play with the office, despite the fact that its incredibly obvious just how deeply I've fallen for him.

Doing up the final button on my shirt, I took a very ragged breath as I prepared to walk back out and face the my brother.

Tony left his seat on the edge of the desk, his fingers settling on my shoulders as he told me, "Everything's going to be OK." I nodded at him, not believing, but appreciating the sentiment.

Seeing this, he kissed me softly, giving me the confidence to walk towards the door and unlock it. As I was about to open it, I heard his soft tones whisper, "I love you."

A smile crept onto my face, he hadn't said that before, but somehow it seemed to fit.

Not needing to turn around, but rather wanting to, I whispered, "I love you so much" as I spun around.

I watched that slow, awkward smile slip onto his face, impeded only by his teeth biting slightly on his lower lip, and felt mine do the same.

With that, I forced myself to turn around and walk down those same awful stairs, knowing that hell faced me with my brother but equally knowing that I was going home to his apartment, and that it was going to be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- you mentioned the making out in his office thing- and I thought I'd write a bit where he had to deal with that.

We shouldn't have done that. Yet somehow, I don't seem to be able to care. I can still feel her, hot tears trailing her face, eyes wide. I couldn't leave her like that. I've fallen so deep that reminding myself to breathe is about all I can manage. Keeping a rein on my self-control is not something I am even close to being able to do.

Even now, with her gone, it takes a moment before I can force my eyes away from the spot where she'd been standing.

It hurts like hell to see her like that, hurting so much. No one who was working on that day has any more than a precarious balance in sanity, and with the brother the way he is, I honestly don't know how she copes.

What makes it worse is that I know that it's not going to get any better. She's going to spend the rest of the day with him, then arrive back at mine in the evening, shattered and her mind filled with all the insecurities he's spent the day poisoning her with. Then it will take me hours to get out of her what's wrong, and even longer to convince her that it's not her fault.

And its not, who could possibly fault her for trying to help her brother, it just kills me to see what he does to her.

As I try and force myself away from that subject, trying to pretend that maybe she won't come home exhausted, my mind drifts to more immediate concerns. I'd tinted the windows earlier in the day to take a call with Chappelle and hadn't set them back, thank God. With Michelle the way she was, neither of us had the sense to be discrete, and we weren't ready to tell anyone that we were dating, let alone put them on a show. Besides, this place tears apart relationships, we've all seen it. This was the main reason, aside from the obvious problem of actually having a relationship in the office, that we had decided to keep our personal lives separate from work. A promise we broke today.

And although no one saw us, that doesn't mean that we'll get away with it. My eyes flick to the security cameras that are focused on where we had been standing. Every move you make in this place is monitored, we both know that. Fortunately for us, the CTU budget doesn't stretch to include someone to watch these feeds, they are just there in case of trouble.

As my fingers find the program for deleting the frames of us, I hesitate for a moment. We were breaking protocol, and know I'm hiding the evidence. It hardly seems appropriate. I know Jack Bauer used to do it, but I promised myself that I wouldn't become like him, flaunting the rules at every opportunity just because I could. I've already started, hell I even drugged my boss. I don't want to end up like him.

For a moment I'm tempted to leave them there, no one would see them unless they went looking, and they would only do that if they thought there was something between us.

But that passes quickly. I go weak at the knees every time she looks at me, and today proved how difficult it is going to be to maintain a professional façade when she's around. It wouldn't take much for someone to guess, and the last thing I need is to face an inquiry over this. So I delete them, it's not a huge deal, its not like I'm stealing money or anything.

Yet somehow it is a big deal, I don't want this to be my career at CTU, lying and covering up at every corner. I don't want to be Jack Bauer. As I climb down the stairs to get some coffee and try and sort my head out, I glance at her station. We can't do this again, I won't. I can't keep lying. But at the same time this thought enters my head, I think of her, and I know I can't let her go, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Somehow, I hope this will work itself out, because I will lie for her, I know I will, I would do anything for her. But I don't want to end up like that.

Seeing her cup lying in the sink where she'd left it, in too much of a rush to put it away, I push these thoughts away. When I go home tonight, she'll be there and she'll be mine, and really, that's all that matters.


End file.
